Hierarchy
by Lefttoconquer
Summary: They're toxic, kind of like Romeo and Juliet. The perfect pair, but everyone on the outside looking in sees the toxic that they're desperately trying to hide. That mayor part in their life's that distance them; the social hierarchy.
1. I have a diary, sue me

**Title**: Hierarchy  
><strong>Genre<strong>: Romance/drama  
><strong>Ship<strong>: Sam/Rachel  
><strong>Rating<strong>: T  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They're toxic, kind of like Romeo and Juliet. The perfect pair, but everyone on the outside looking in sees the toxic that they're desperately trying to hide. That mayor part in their life's that distance them; the social hierarchy.

**AN: **Sam's been in McKinley since freshman year, Rachel's never dated Finn, Jesse, or Puck… Actually, you could just kind of call this an AU. And the jocks and cheerios never joined Glee club, either. It takes place, however, in junior year.

_Dear diary,_

_I saw her today, again. The undying bright smile on her face, the twinkle scattered in her eyes, her luscious movements and the picture perfect body. It was all there._

_She was singing in the auditorium like she always does. Kind of like her sacred place. You know, where she can be at ease and stuff. She sings really well, but I think I told you that before._

_I watched her the whole time. When she was eating, I watched her, when she was singing, I watched her, when she was talking to Kurt, I watched her, when she got slushied, I stood by, and watched her. I felt helpless than, I feel hopeless now. But I told you that before too, didn't I?_

_It's all I can do, you know – watching, gazing, smiling when she catches my eye._

_She always smiles back, all bright like, her pouty pink lips curled up._

_Our lips would be perfect together._

_Like a forbidden dream come true._

…

He does it again. Karofsky. He picks _her_ out of all the students in McKinley high and slushies _her_.

She's all drippy and soaked afterwards, staring down defeated. It's when she takes their little vents in; when they smile and laugh and bark and call her all the names that they've bred upon for weeks prior. Her tiny fists are balled up and she's glaring at the floor. Helplessly, hopelessly. It's how he feels too when he looks at her. When they pad his shoulder reassuringly. ''We got her there.'' They'll smile, jut their chins to her soaked form. And he'd stand idly by. ''Let's see if she'll open up her big jap again.''

She does. She always, always does.

And then they slushy her again – they always, always do.

She's strong, Sam settles on. She's a tough girl. He admires that, craves it too. He wishes he could be strong like that. Not physically strong, 'cause he got that. But mentally, capable of going on without giving a shit what others might think. Her beautiful mouth always opens, and then she says things like; Broadway star, and smart, and aspiring actress. And then she goes on and on and on about her dreams that seem so far away to him – to everyone.

He thinks they're jealous. Angry, actually. Pissed off that she carries so much, so much, so much _believe_. And trust. He's kind of jealous too. Because secretly he wants to be just as mentally strong as her. Capable of ignoring everyone whose ideals are against hers - _his_.

She dreams for herself, for no one else.

He dreams too, actually. A lot.

He wishes upon those stars that she compares herself to. And when he wishes, he wishes about things that are just as far out of his reach. Like the others see her dreams.

And maybe that's what draws his sight to hers. To her endless bright smile and chocolate eyes that seem to look right into his soul. And perhaps he dreams just as large as her – only she dreams bigger, only hers are accessible – and she might just follow her dreams too, while he'll stand at those sidelines of hers.

To everyone he's playing a part of their game, part of their world. But to her, he's at _her_ sidelines – along with the rest of the school. In her world, he's not important.

He dreams to be a part of _her_ world.

…

_Dear dairy,_

_She used to smile at me when she caught me looking – I'd always smile back. I think it's like a secret little conversation we have going on. Only we're in on it. Only we understand. It's kind of exciting when I think of it. Sometimes I crave that little time of the day – our secret little bond. I think we're like magnets or something. Is that freaky? Or just really creeperish?_

_But then suddenly, she stopped. Suddenly our bond became nonexistence. _

…

She always looks away when he looks at her.

It's like he's burning her from afar. His stare is fire while she's made out of grass. It _aches_ her, he thinks. It hurts her, perhaps. She can't look too long or else she'll burn. And everyone around them will be part of the flames. She's suffered enough; he's seen it, he's been there. She can't suffer any longer. Sometimes he's unwillingly been part of it; saw a lightened match hike up to her body and set her up in flames.

He wonders just how much she can take in – when is it enough for her. When does she crumble into ashes?

Could it ever even be enough for her?

He admires her for her strength. He looks at her _because_ he admires her – thinks about her – writes in his stupid diary about her. She haunts his mind at a daily basis; she graces the halls and claims his eyes without even trying. He doesn't know what she's doing to him – and neither does she.

It stays a secret. Locked behind a book filled with half empty pages.

…

Her voice sends something down his heart.

It's a light flutter, a light breeze that wells his chest up. She belts out words that touch him; _'forever' 'him' 'my own'_. It's beautiful. She's in a trance and she picks him up during it, pulls him in when she's there, and holds him above the ground. He's flying. Like that girl from Titanic. She's holding him up. He's honestly soaring.

He's going to fall. He knows that. He shouldn't even be looking at her from the start. She doesn't know that he's in her grasp, someone can simply come along, sweep her off her feet and she lets go. Let's go of him. And he falls.

And she wouldn't even_ know_.

But he's so tangled up in her fingers, so deep in her hands. He can't, he just _can't _escape. It's impossible.

Does he even want to?

…

Rachel is her name.

He finds out, one day, from Finn in the locker room.

He's not in on the conversation. He never is. They talk about girls that he's not interested in, parties he's not intending to join (but will, because that's what everyone expects him to do), and about COD.

He does talk when they're in on COD, but that's all.

Finn talks about her like she's crazy – batshit crazy he refers to her. And everyone snickers. Finn shrugs like he's done something so totally amazing that it's not even worthy to utter a word, but the motion only is enough. And he shakes his head because this isn't worthy to listen to.

Her name is beautiful though. Rachel. Rachel. _Rachel_. It fits her.

''How'd you know her name anyway?'' Azimio asks, tugging his shirt over his body. ''You banging her?''

Finn snickers this time and his blood boils, the color leaving his face. ''Well.'' Sam's fists clench. ''No… But Kurt brings her home a lotta times, so yeah. Kind of heard it.''

He relaxes, instantly.

They suddenly get bored talking about her and soon forget that she even exists. It's about Santana, and Quinn and he gets pulled into the subject when they fall on Quinn; the ice Queen who wants him and him only. She's even said it like that. Stated it point blank.

But that was _after_ he saw Rachel._ After_ he felt this heart wrenching pull towards the brunet. _After_ his dreams reeked of her petite body. That was _after_. And after is too late for Quinn.

He shrugs the subject off, nonchalantly.

…

They talk for the first time in… forever, when he meets her in Breadsticks.

She's watering and he's there on his own, about to pick up food because his mom told him so. He didn't want to come; he would rather spend the rest of his time in his room drawing a few images of whatever comes to his mind. He doesn't regret coming, though. Not at all anymore.

As soon as she catches his eye, she looks away. He thinks it's fear. He thinks she's scared of him when he sees her body tense up. And secretly, he can't blame her for that.

He walks up to the counter, ignoring his raging heartbeat. She's the only one standing there. Breadsticks is kind of empty and the three or so people sitting in the booths seem satisfied, eating, chattering. They're okay. She's not at liberty to help them now. They don't need her help.

He does, though.

She takes in a few deep breaths before walking up to him with a bright smile that she has forced onto her face.

He never knew she worked her.

''Hey –''

''Can I get you anything?'' She cuts him off, forcefully.

He's not going to lie, that'd hurt. ''Um, yeah. I –'' he looks at her. He's not at all surprised of her beauty. Her high cheekbones and her brown chocolate eyes. She has that determined sparkle in her eyes that she's known for. It's that little feature that speaks more words than lips could ever utter.

''I didn't know you work here.'' He says instead. Voicing his thoughts.

She's a bit taken back that he's so curious about her. _Her_ of all people.

She shouldn't be.

''Yes… I…'' She frowns, looking at him. She's searching for something and he slightly, just slightly, moves underneath her stare. ''I didn't start long ago.''

''How long?'' He drills in.

''…a few weeks – why are you so curious?''

She frowns like she's seriously trying to spot something wicked. But after she blows out a breath and her frowns soothes, he thinks that she's found nothing.

('Cause there's none.)

''I just am.'' He pauses. ''I'm Sam by the way. Sam Evans.''

''I know.'' She states bluntly, shaking her head easily, causing her ponytail to swipe against her face. ''I mean… everyone knows you. You're. _Sam_. McKinley high's quarterback_. The_ star athlete.''

He smiles, gently. At least he's not the only one intimidated.

''So, can I get you anything, Sam?''

He nods and tells her the things his mom told him – perfectly repeating word for word.

It's there, when she nods and steps away, that Breadsticks officially becomes his number one hangout place.

…

She never spares him a glance at school – not during their lessons together, not when he passes her in the hallways, not when he subtly (but unsubtly) looks at her – not ever, not at all. She's pushed him into that little cramped corner full of disbelieving, spiteful people; a part of Azimio, Karofsky and all the others who treat her like crap. It's how she still sees him. And therefore, not someone worth looking at, not someone worth sparing a glance at. He's nothing to her. Simply a ghost.

But when he comes to Breadsticks, he suddenly exists.

He doesn't know how he feels about this – should he be happy? He isn't. Angry? He kind of is. Is she looking after him? She shouldn't, though. He can take care of himself. He can handle what everyone thinks.

Yet he never makes any initiation of talking to her at school – so he wonders now; _is_ he scared? Does he fear what she fears? What they have is nothing to worry about. It's just two people talking to each other. Is that so wrong? Finn does it with Kurt. So what can't he do it with Rachel?

He never asks, because what's the point in trying?

He's sitting at the counter of Breadsticks one day while she's watering two girls as she pours some coffee into both their cups. Afterwards she settles on walking back to him, placing the kettle on the counter.

She leans forward on her elbows, glancing at the costumers.

''Hey… are we… are we cool?'' He asks, looking up at her.

She raises an eyebrow, nodding slowly. ''Yes, of course why?''

''No reason. I just wanted to know.''

He smiles, but the crease on her forehead tells him that she doesn't entirely believe him.

…

_Dear diary,_

_I wish it could've been me, instead of her._

…

It's a mass attack. And she's the center of their hatred.

It happens right in the middle of the hallway, with students standing at the sides and teachers nowhere in sight. They never are. When he needs them the most – when he needs them, like, right now – they aren't there. But when they're completely unnecessary, they suddenly grace his life with their existences. The reality of it is unfair. The thought of it is unfair. The sight of it is _utterly_ unfair.

Quinn's the one leading the attack. She's the one giving of the signal to the six football players and two cheerios behind her. She's the one raising her hand, her manicured fingers dangling in the air as if she's eagerly waiting to give of the start sign, like they do it on a track.

It's one.

The cups rise.

It's two.

He stands idly by, hearing the snap of two fingers in the air.

And three comes too soon, as the petite girl is caught by surprise.

No one dares to give her time to recover as the sound of laughter fills the hallways.

The sordid thing – the most despicable display ever, walks towards him, trails her fingers over his shoulder and smiles that Satan worthy smile. Her grouchy, hissing voice flies out of her mouth in defying wisps as she murmurs; ''That was fun. Next time… play too.'' And flings her perfect index finger against his cheek. Flaunching away as if she thought that he would be watching her ass swivel in her almost none existent skirt.

He never does. Because the petite girl covered in blue and red slush entrances him more than any short Cheerios skirt on the ice Queen could've ever done.

…

_Dear diary,_

_I asked her if I could borrow a pen. A pen! _

_She said yes._

…

It takes a lot out of him, okay. Like really, really, _really_ much. His palms are sweaty and his heart is racing a mile a minute. Everyone's looking at him and he's just standing there, in class (In school, for crying out loud), next to her desk while moving from one foot to the other. It's like she senses his presence or anyone's presence actually, as she looks up. Slightly terrified. It glazes over in her eyes, and he's fast and alert and catches it before it's entirely gone. When she sees it's him he expects at least a tiny little smile, or some sort of relief.

There's relief. No smile.

He asks her the first words that he's ever uttered to her on school. Ever. And they've been sharing a class for a little over two years now – while he's been watching her (not _stalkerish_ or _creeperish,_ just like, watching, whatever). It becomes their very first real words. Not the first words they've ever said to each other, he's got that covered. But the first words that he's said to her in front of _them._

''Can I borrow a pen?''

She raises an eyebrow. And he's sure that the students behind him have the same confused expression as she has. No one expects this. Them. Talking. Even if it's yet so little. Not even she expects it.

''I – I yes.'' She frowns. ''Yeah.'' It comes out flabbergast and halting as she shakes her head and zips open her etui, taking out a blue pen for him.

(He wonders if she ever chews on the top of the lid.)

She gives him the pen and he takes it, accidently (purposefully) letting his fingers grace against hers. And she immediately pulls her hand away as if his fire has barely graced the points of her grass blades.

''Thanks.'' He mutters.

She shrugs. ''You're welcome.''

He looks at her, for a little bit. It's a short little bit for anyone looking at them, but it's long enough for her to pull her sight away from his and break that little special moment that they've always seemed to have before she cut all of their mental ties of.

(It hurts. But when does it not?)

When he turns around he sees everyone – literally everyone – in the classroom looking at him.

Finn's confused the ever so dopey puppy look on his face. Puck's frowning, Santana's shaking her head, Mike's surprised and Quinn looks ready to kill someone. He wants to say that the rest of the students are okay with him asking _Rachel Berry _for a pen, but he can't.

'Cause they aren't.

He sits down on his chair, blissfully ignoring the pointed looks against the back of his head as he thumbs the lid of the pen. Moving his finger against the bite marks, as if trying to savor the feeling.

As if trying to imagine her lips.

…

He's _not_ hers.

She stakes her claim on him right in front of the lockers in the middle of the hallway. Her hands slam against the locker door and she leans dangerously forward to the smaller girl. Her lips are hovering in front of the brunets face and if it was possible, she looks even scarier than he has ever seen her before. Her manicured bloody finger nails rise and her index finger points accusingly at Rachel's face.

If he could, if he had the guts, he would've walked up to Quinn and called her off. If he dared, if he knew where to find the will to move his legs from his friends, he would've done it without a second thought.

But those are_ if's_.

And Rachel's clutching her books against her chest, shaking her head, frowning, talking back, denying, ignoring, trying to walk away. But she fails and fails and fails as Quinn's deadly grip tightens around Rachel's wrist.

Rachel pulls her hand out of Quinn's grasp, hisses something her way and turns around with her chin held high.

Then another slushy hits her face, jolting her to a stop.

And it sickens him all at once.

He can't stand here.

He can't look anymore.

So he walks away.

(She's perfect. Really. In every way. She's the perfect girl, the perfect star, the perfect honor student. She's the perfect everything. But he's not perfect, and he can't be anything to her.)

…

_Dear diary,_

_She hates me. I know she does. Why else would she ignore me? Can I blame her? Could you blame me? Could I blame myself? Or blame Quinn? I'll blame Quinn, it's easier._

_It's my fault too, isn't it? _

_I should've been stronger, shouldn't I?_

_She hates me._

…

She starts treating him like a costumer instead of a sort of friend, a sort of classmate, a sort of acquaintance. She starts treating him more like a stranger. More like something that's there. Just there. Nothing else. Nothing important. It's a 'hello, what do you need, is that all?' and she's gone. It's give and take and walk away and then she's _gone_.

He can't ask her to stay, he doesn't have the right too.

(But he _wants _to ask.)

…

He feels like he's been building something between them, for the past few days. It's not big, on the outside. But to him, it's enormous. He made a daring step, walked into the line of fire and attempted to pull her out of it. Hoping that in the process he wouldn't get burnt. Just, pull her out, walk away unscratched, proud, happy, and move on with his life. Maybe even a little bit wiser.

Sam _doesn't _reach her though, he _does_ get burnt, and while in complete shock, he finds himself trapped between the flames.

She's not just a fascination, anymore. But an obsession.

A lethal one.

(But he swears, as the flames find a way to cease him, that his fingertips touched her for a _second_.)

…

**TBC**

**I don't own Glee.**


	2. The beginning of something toxic

**Hierarchy**

* * *

><p>He does <em>not<em> stalk her.

He's _not _stalking her.

Maybe… following.

Not stalking.

But Rachel wears those really abnormal short skirts and she's still in the streets late at night, coming out of her practices all innocently… and yeah, whatever, there's probably some sick psycho running round town and she's like really tiny.

In his defense, he's looking out for her. It's not like many people want to.

(And he very well wants to.)

She's a phenomenal dancer, too. He knew she could sing; he knew she could act. But dancing? That's something else entirely. She's kind of elegant and beautiful, and in complete focus, because even if the other girls around her trip and fall and make the most hideous mistakes, she's still standing there, pop 'n locking, smiling brightly like it's the _air_ that she _breathes_.

She's amazing.

(But when is she not?)

Sometimes he thinks that she knows he's following her. It's when she stops right in the middle of the streets, contemplating about something, while he's got his collar hiked up to his mouth, hands in his pockets and pretending to watch a nonexistent dirty spot on his shoe. She halts for maybe a minute, eyes right ahead, and then proceeds to walk again. Never turns around. But always stops. She turns her head, left and then right, crossing the road, her abnormal beautiful legs sticking out of her skirt, and moves on to her house.

Sometimes she stops right on her porch, she doesn't take out her key, and she doesn't knock on her door either; like maybe she forgot her key or something? Rachel has a perfect mind, abstains the hardest of subjects, and nails her tests (he's seen it. He knows it). So he doubts that that's it (eventually, she takes out her long lost key and steps into her house). And perhaps she is contemplating about turning around, catching him behind a wall all wide eyed and shocked and stuff, before dialing 911 and have them take further actions.

But if she is, if she knew, she sure as hell never took further actions.

And it kind of makes him wonder; what if someone could really be stalking her, would she be able to do something about it?

She never catches him on the act.

He never displays that he's hurt.

('Cause maybe he does want her to turn around?)

**...**

He's sitting at the counter of Breadsticks, his little brother at his side. And even if he's just a costumer to her, he still can't refrain from coming here. She's like a force field, summoning him back to his post.

But in all honesty, Stevie wanted a milkshake while he picked him up from school. And he never denies Stevie anything.

It's a pure coincidence that when they arrive she's working her shift. It's not like he _memorized_ the days that she works (Tuesday's, Wednesday's and Saturday's) or the times that she works (it's always after school, 'till late in the night).

He's not that freaky.

When she catches sight of Stevie she smiles, when she sees him, not so much.

It's like they've been pulled back to the past. She exhales a deep breath, plasters on a fake smile and walks up to them, overall ignoring his eyes.

The past is such a nasty place to visit.

''Can I get you something?'' She asks sweetly while looking at Stevie.

Stevie instantly smiles, purses his lips as he nods.

But before he gets the chance to put in his order, Sam breaks in.

''A milkshake.'' Sam says, forcing her to look at him. He enjoys every second of it. Using every giving moment to look at her, usefully. ''Strawberry.''

She nods, pressing her lips together. ''Is that all?''

''Yeah.'' He says (he isn't sure, at all).

But his words are enough, because she walks away without waiting for anything else. Two minutes later she's back, the strawberry milkshake in her delicate hands as she places it on the counter before Stevie.

As he looks at her, a smile dancing on her face, he thinks that this smile, this one, wasn't there before.

This one's real.

(Unfortunately, it's not directed to him.)

When she walks away, again, he doesn't expect her to come back unless he's leaving and he needs to pay.

Breadsticks not nearly as full as it used to be, and maybe, looking around… looking at her, he kind of expected her to talk to him, just like they did before. Far before Quinn took it upon her to stake her claim on someone who isn't hers. Far before reality caught up on them.

Rachel's not as willingly though, not as before. And she takes something from beneath the counter (it's a thin magazine), leans over the counter, her elbows prompted on top and spreads the magazine out before her. While, overall, ignoring him.

Because he's back there behind those damn sidelines.

(He mentally begs for her attention, but she refuses to look at him.)

Stevie slurps his milkshake, muttering something about Stacey who's going to be _soooo_ jealous when she finds out that _he_ got a milkshake and she didn't, when Sam sees out of the corner of his eyes a blue big print on the magazine between her delicate, soft looking hands.

And then it hits him.

He fully turns around, directing his back to his little brother as he narrows his eyes at the magazine.

No. Way.

No. _Freaking._ Way.

''Avatar?'' He exclaims, causing her to whip her head from the magazine and look up. His eyebrows jolt up, jutting his chin to the magazine. ''You're reading a magazine about… Avatar?''

Her cheeks turn red. It's cute, but she looks ashamed. She looks back down at the magazine before shyly, looking back up at him.

The look in her eyes… his heart skips a beat.

''Yes… I – I want to audition for… um.'' She clears her throat. ''Avatar on ice, and I…'' She shakes her head. ''It's always good to be well prepared… so I thought, perhaps I could rear in a bit knowledge before the real deal.''

If his jaw wasn't on the floor yet, it sure as hell is now.

''I forgot all about your… um, fixe with Avatar.'' He cocks an eyebrow up, higher. Noticing her slip up she shakes her head. ''Not that I – I don't, listen, or eavesdrop when people talk about you.'' She jerks up, letting the magazine go as if it burnt her. ''Not that you don't interest me… you actually do, somehow. But, I mean, people talk, and sometimes I just hear things…'' She trails off, ever so confused.

He grins, standing up from his chair. Unbeknownst to the look his little brother is shooting him.

''You make it sound like it's a big deal; I don't mind…'' He shakes his head. ''I just… I never thought a girl would _willingly _read something about _Avatar_…'' He chews his lip. ''You know, if it's important to you, we could, like, if you want –'' He shrugs, her eyes widen. ''I'm like a big geek when it comes to Avatar,'' he begins honestly. ''And I know the basics, like Navi and stuff and I've got the movie home, even watched it like, eight times… So if you'd like… you know. We could watch it… _together_?''

Really smooth, dude. Really smooth.

''Yes well, I.'' She wrings her hands. ''I thought about seeing the movie, but I never really had any time. I'm afraid that I'm just too busy.'' She looks up at him knowingly, and for a fleeting moment, he flinches. ''I have several of practices, such as dance practice, vocal practice… and not to forget my job here at Breadsticks.'' She shakes her head, taking the magazine of the counter and putting it back from where she took it. ''Not to forget my homework schedule, and thereby, being the lead of my Glee club I need to behave responsible… my peers expect certain things from me.'' She jerks back up, licking her lips. ''A – and with the way my club's behaving nowadays so close to Sectionals, someone needs to be the wise one.'' Afterwards, muttering; ''It's fairly obvious that Mr. Schue won't.''

''Isn't this like part of your schedule…'' He tries, nevertheless. ''Like the whole auditioning thing? Isn't it necessary, too?''

Flabbergast, she nods, pressing her lips together as she looks away. Her thick hair falling across her face.

''I don't know –''

''I just thought, maybe, you know.'' He shrugs. Cutting her off. ''I just want to help you, and 'sides. It could be, like, fun, right? Of all the hectic you've got going on, this could be a nice… break. And helpful too.''

When she looks at him, he can practically see the wheels spinning in her head ('a break, with him? Him, as in Sam Evans? What am I getting myself into?')

But then she chews her lip, all delicious like, and he imagines the things she could do with that mouth.

''…You won't tell anyone, right?'' She hopefully, yet affrightedly asks.

And if at first, he looked shocked, it's nowhere to be seen now, because the next answer sealed their vital chaotic deal. ''I won't.''

(And perhaps he'll do anything to seal the deal.)

''Then it's a date… A – I mean…'' Annoyed with herself she scrunches up her nose, shaking her head. ''I mean…'' She sighs. ''I'll come.''

…

_Dear diary,_

_Today, she saw my sketches of her… she told me they were beautiful._

_I told her she was gorgeous._

…

It's always been a dream. Him and her in the same room; in his bedroom.

In his dream they never talked; it was still so new to them, still so foreign. In reality, he listens to everything she has to say, and in return, she listens to him. In his dream, they never sat on his bed and watched his favorite movie. In reality, she asks him about the movie, shows zest, and actually… enjoys it.

In his dream, he was so cut up in knowing every inch of her body, feeling her up close, _next_ to him, _forever_. Her phone would ring, and none of them would pay attention to it. There was no outside world, because everything that didn't fit into their world belonged at the sidelines. And she never looks at the sidelines. In his dreams, everyone was at the sidelines except them. Sam and Rachel. Rachel and Sam.

But this wasn't a dream. There were still people walking in between, stepping through their world, shortening their forever. Their nonexistent forever.

Just for this moment, for how long she chooses to share their shortened forever with him, there's no one in between.

(And he will cherish this.)

''That was one of the most… finest movies I have ever seen.''

He can't believe it. The movie's over, for over a half hour now, and she's still here. She doesn't make any initiation that she wants to go, either.

''I know, right?'' He exclaims happily. ''Jake Sully, just kind of, inspires me.'' He shrugs, catching her eyes as she glances over. She's lying on his bed, her fingers playing with a loose thread of his navy blue sheets. ''He kind of just said; screw them all, 'cause I've got love.'' Her eyes shimmer, her hair spread out on his pillow. She's looking at him, which is enough to send trillions of butterflies down his stomach. ''He did it for love.''

''I guess.'' She exhales, tentatively biting her bottom lip. ''Some people would deem all the consequences if it meant to be with the one that they love.''

He wants to be one of those people.

(He thinks he already is.)

But instead he asks; ''would you do it?''

She hikes up an eyebrow, a perfectly made eyebrow. ''Do what?''

''Deem all the consequences for love?''

It's a hard question for her. Because, does she know love? Has she ever felt love?

She frowns, and then the crease sooths.

She answers with a; ''Yes.'' Bobbing her head up and down, because she believes in love, just as much as he does. ''Something's are worth paying the price for, if love's the reward.''

Even the things that they never had? Does that count too?

Maybe he sees it like an invitation. Maybe he thinks that she's letting him in on something? He doesn't know. It might be it, it might not be it. But he scoots over to her body, and somehow he finds his face hovering above hers. She doesn't try to move away, because fascination has grown so familiar, and the taste of forbidden is so close.

He can almost taste the sweetness on his _lips_.

His breath hitches in his throat before, as gently and possibly the dumbest move he could ever do, says; ''Rachel I –''

She breaks out of her trance. Shaking her head, as if she was about to do the stupidest thing ever, and stands up.

''Did… did I do something wrong?''

She shakes her head again, crossing her arms when she looks away. ''No, I just.'' She looks around. And he kind of suspects that she's looking for something that could kill this awkward atmosphere. Maybe even obscure what could've happened if he closed his big mouth.

Her eyes stop their desperate movement.

She finds something.

It's his note block.

''What's that?''

He follows her train of look.

Biting his lip he murmurs; ''my.'' He clears his throat. ''Note block.''

She walks up to his desk, takes the significant, conspicuous note block in her hands and stares at it.

''Can I –'' she pauses, looking at him. ''Look?''

He doesn't know if he wants that, really. She's going to think of him way differently when she sees what he draws on those papers.

(Probably like a sick perv or something.)

He tells her yes, anyways, 'cause he can't ever deny her anything. And when she opens the book, looks at his drawings, her beautiful chocolate brown eyes shimmering with emotion. Her reaction is not at all what he expected.

She flips through the pages, sometimes she's nodding, sometimes she's smiling, other times she's looking annoyed (he thinks she's looking at the drawing that he made of Quinn). There are times when her eyes widen, but not affrightedly, or angry, but just kind of; shocked. And then there are those times when she has a blank expression on her face. And just watches his sketches and scribbles a while longer than the other drawings.

Flabbergast, she says; ''they are truly… beautiful, Sam… Really, beautiful.''

She means every word of it.

He's not ashamed when he breathes out; ''you're gorgeous.''

And he doesn't take it back, either.

She looks up from the drawing, her eyes kind of shimmering like she's about to cry, but smiles instead of answering. She holds the note block tighter, and then she asks; ''Can I – perhaps – have one of them?'' She takes a quick glance at the drawing. ''One of these?''

He nods, without hesitating. He could always make more.

(He'd give her everything she asks for.)

She walks up to him, flopping back on his bed as her arm graces his body. It's electric. Impulses hitting his chest.

He kind of, has to suck in a difficult breath, to keep his heart beating.

She takes one of the notes in her hands, and as he looks over her shoulder while she tears the paper out of the note block, he sees one of his favorite drawings in her hands. The one he drew as passionately as love itself.

It's the one where he drew her naked.

…

They hang out. A lot.

Other days it's just hanging around in his room, sometimes they're at the movies, watching just everything their heart simply desires, there are those times when they're sitting in Breadsticks, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

It's the first time that he's in her room and when he notices his sketch that she took from his note block, taped at the tip of her bed, he kind of smiles lopsided.

She follows his train of look, nervously tugging a strand of her lustrous hair behind her ear.

''I wanted it close to me…'' She chews her bottom lip. ''It didn't feel right hiding it… But I couldn't put it out in the open either… My dads wouldn't be thrilled if they knew that boys…'' She pauses, casting him a glance. He blushes. ''Anyway, I thought, if I put it there, I can always tug it away when my dads choose to grace my room.''

He knew about her gay dads, the whole school knows about that. Heck, the whole freaking population of Lima knows that. It's a small town, people crave gossip.

''Why didn't you hide it today? I mean, you left for school, so wouldn't that kind of put you on the spot if your dads –''

''_They're not home.'_' Shrugging nonchalantly she goes on. ''Business trip… which, to be honest, I'm kind of glad about.'' A smile tugs on her lips. ''At least I don't have to act like I'm hiding something.''

She doesn't sound hurt about the lack of guidance in her house. But sounding and being are two different things.

He doesn't know her all that well, on his way learning, but not completely there yet. Somehow, the littlest of things that she seems to keep out, kind of springs when he looks at her. She holds tightly onto that mask she calls a smile, and the cape she calls courage. But when he looks closer, her fingers are loosening on the edges of her façade, and he sees a part of her that not everyone gets the privilege to visit.

(He's honored.)

''At least you don't.'' He repeats.

''Exactly.'' She places herself gently on her bed. ''So…'' She purses her lips. ''What do you think? My room… I mean, about my room? What do you think of my room?'' She spreads her hands next to her sides, as if to make it crystal clear. ''Kind of girly, or?''

He shrugs, playfully placing his thumb and index finger on his chin. Inquisitive, he looks through her room. The walls are bright yellow, her bed is made up with dozens of fluffy stuffed animals, posters of various of Broadway stars on her walls (she told him about Barbra, made sure that he never forgets the name, too) and a microphone, inclusive a microphone stand, right next to her bed.

Satisfied at the way her personality comes out of her room, he crosses his arms.

''I think it's… awesome.''

Rachel grins, and it's only for him.

(Somehow it starts to feel like he's invading her world. There's Rachel, Sam, and _then_ the sidelines.)

…

He draws her. Like really, really draws her. Not imaginative, as if she's not here and the thought of her is what he puts on paper. But like, she's actually modeling for him. A portrait.

Not really modeling though, but she knows he's drawing her while she's lying on his bed. She's looking at him, her beautiful full lips closed, as her eyes behold his face. They don't shift, they don't move, but somehow she still manages to take in every little piece of him.

And he draws. Crooked lines, a beautiful physique, wavy brown hair, sleek diagonal lines, and everything that's going to take him to his end result. He's almost there, she's almost picture perfect.

He looks up, occasionally. Looking at every detail, at every little inch that he's putting on paper, and she stares right back. Her eyes are hooded, her fingers stilled on his mattress. He wonders what she's thinking about. If she's thinking about him in the same way as he thinks about her–_about them_.

(Sometimes he really thinks that she's thinking about him. That they're doing those forbidden actions that are only appropriate in their dreams.)

When he's done and he's put the block aside, the pencil resting neatly on top of his master piece, her gaze still holds onto his face.

Then she whispers the most sweetish of words.

''Lay down with me.''

Her stilled fingers move to her chest, balled half up into a fist.

He does what she says, lays down beside her, and watches as she turns around to face him.

He doesn't expect her to toy with his hair; he doesn't expect her to move closer, he doesn't expect her to look at him like… _that_. Like how he looks at her. But when it comes to Rachel, he has learned to expect the unexpected.

And if it was possible, he'd drown into her puppy, doe, chocolate eyes, and never find his way up again.

…

_Dear diary,_

_We kissed. _

_And all was forgotten._

_I needed that, she needed that. We both needed that. That moment, you know? Just the two of us. It's kind of special and she deserves special. I'm not sure that I deserve her… but I need her. It's lame and weak and kind of sissy but I can't help it. I have to stop, but I can't._

_Her lips are just sooo soft. And her eyes are just so brown. And she just makes me feel so good._

_So, so, so good._

…

She tastes like strawberry and mint, and her lips are so soft. It's like he's falling into a little piece of heaven. His thumb cherishes her cheek, her face cradled in his hand while her tender hands balance on his chest. His tongue erotically swipes over her bottom lip, teasing her to open her mouth, and after three strokes, she does. Their tongues battle, her hands fists his shirt, as the hand on her cheek slowly hikes up to her hair and holds her head in place.

She bites and pulls, and dominates every little piece of his heart.

They don't stop kissing until he hears the sound of a car stopping before her house.

(And even then, he doesn't leave.)

…

He sort of asks her out on school in the auditorium.

She's speechless, fisting the microphone in her hands as she stares up at him. Occasionally her eyes shift to the closed door while wiggling on her feet, like she's expecting someone to storm in, any minute.

''It's not really a date… I mean.'' He shrugs, nervously. ''It's just a stupid dinner party that my parents have planned, and I thought – they told me I could bring somebody, and I thought about you.'' She smiles. ''If you don't want anyone to know about this, than… I won't tell… no one from school's coming anyway. It's just a few people from my dad's work.'' He tugs his hands into his pockets. ''I'd really like it,'' 'love it', is the honest wording, but 'like it', is appropriate. ''If you'd come… please say yes.''

She finally stops moving on her feet, and her hands loosen around the microphone, then her smile brightens and she nods eagerly, as if she's been waiting to say this. ''I'd love to.''

He grins, nonchalantly nodding. ''Cool.''

He keeps reminding himself that it's not a date, even if it feels like one.

…

She is, in one word; beautiful.

She steps into his house, a red purse in her grasp, as she gazes around, her curled hair swiping against her face. And with every step that she takes, the clicking of her red high heels earns many more attention, than she has put herself up to.

She doesn't look back. Not once. And continuously, while his father takes her jacket, and she exposes a short, black, curve hugging dress, she searches for someone. Someone in particularly.

Then her eyes fall onto him, right there, in the middle of his living room.

And she _smiles_, her gorgeous eyes twinkling.

He smiles back.

She comes closer, and closer, and his heart picks up a faster pace.

It's when she stands before him, her eyes looking up, that he notices his sweaty hands.

''You're blushing.'' She says, giggling softly.

It's musical.

''I – I am?'' He wonders, already knowing the answer. She nods, as he presses his lips together. ''It's probably the… the… temperature.'' He brushes it off with a shake of his head. ''You know how it goes.'' He awkwardly pulls at his collar. ''It's… really, um… _hot_.''

He thinks that she knows what he's doing, because she bobs her head, up and down, purses her lips as if she's trying to hide a smile and shrugs one shoulder.

''Kind of.''

…

His mother loves her, Stevie and Stacey adore her, dad can't get enough of her, and she socializes with everyone in his living room. And he swears, some of his dad's co-workers are eyeing her up and down.

(He's not even going to deny his anger.)

But he's standing there, somewhere in the corner of his living room, looking at her, all happy and completely serene, that it's nearly impossible to hide a smile. Because that girl, the one that looks so free, the one that's so different from everyone else, that's the one he likes. That's the one he wants.

Mom passes him, holding a tray with glasses of champagne. She only takes one glance at Rachel, before leaning over to his ear, whispering; ''She's perfect.''

She winks, like she knows something that he doesn't (or does know; he's still looking).

And he blushes, kind of caught and shameful.

(He wonders what he's so scared about.)

He swallows a thick lump, straightening his shoulders. ''Yeah.'' He murmurs, his gaze attached to her form. She laughs, musically. A remarkable sound.

''Perfect.''

His mother doesn't pass him again.

And in the middle of the noises, laughter and happiness, Rachel catches his eye.

This time she's the one blushing.

…

They don't talk about stars and metaphors, musicals, Avatar or any of their interests. They don't talk about the things that other people know. The things that are hovering above the surface, ready to be taken. But instead, they dig deeper. She digs deeper. They share, more than they've possibly shared with another soul.

She pulls at the wrapper of her vegan chocolate, which his mom specially bought for her.

''I know their jobs are important, and it's what puts the food on the table… but is it wrong for me to want them home a little while longer? That the month ends and they're still here?''

It sort of happened.

She stopped talking to other people, and laid her entire focus on him. They talked, they laughed, and he fell, if possible, deeper in love. Eventually they headed up to his room, boxes of chocolates with them as they seated on his bed.

Maybe it's the moment that they're sharing or even just seeing his parents here with him, his brother and sister. Maybe it clicked something within her, touched a button titled 'unlock'. Proceeding to utter her emotions.

He enjoys this, because he knows that he's the first that she has ever shared something like this with.

And for that, he's grateful.

''It's not wrong.''

She nods, satisfied with his answer. ''Being both so… invested with their jobs, it's obvious that they can't be home as much…'' She shakes her head, exhaling a feverish breath and tugging at the wrapper. ''As much as other parents would… But I expected.'' She sighs. ''I _hoped_ that they could've, to the very least, _make_ time for me. Is that too much asked?''

''No.'' He answers.

''It feels like it is.''

''It's not.'' He chews his lip, dropping a chocolate. ''Wanting your dads home with you for at least two months, is perfectly normal. I mean, they _are _your parents, the ones that raised you, the ones that love you… ever child needs that. You need that. I need that. What you're asking is not too much. It's enough.''

She grins, looking at him from underneath her eyelashes. ''You're not as dumb as people make you out to be.''

''Thanks… I think.''

''It's a compliment.'' She reassures. ''I never thought of you as a dumb jock. To be honest, I always picked you out as a smart boy. This, us, here, it just proves my thoughts.'' She shrugs.

''You think of me?''

Pursing her lips, she nods. ''Don't you think of me?''

He does, really. Every awakening day. There's not a minute that goes by when she's not on his mind.

''Sometimes.''

She grins, pushing lightly against his shoulder. ''Can I ask you something… And, be honest, okay?''

He nods hesitantly, and she goes on, instantly.

''Were you… following me? I'm not angry or anything. Granted, at first, I was scared, kind of. But afterwards, I was just… confused. Maybe a part of me thought that you where send by someone, like, Quinn Fabray. After that lackluster showdown at my locker, she kind of threatened me… And I was just scared, because a threat from Quinn means _major _problems. And then suddenly, _the_ Sam Evans was following me, and… I just, slightly, a tiny bit, started envisioning my eulogy…'' She winces. ''After a while, though… I kind of, I don't know… I wasn't scared anymore… just, indifferent.'' She exhales, and there's a lot for him to take in. ''I – I'm not angry.''

''I – I.'' He can't say anything without stumbling over his words.

And here he thought that she was some kind of ignoramus Goddess.

He would lie his ass off, if he could.

But he can't.

Not to her, at least.

''Yeah… I was.''

She bobs her head up and down, slowly putting a chocolate in her mouth.

He feels the need to explain himself. Because if he doesn't, she'll think he's one of Quinn's minion, or that he did it because his friends put him up to that task (frightening the freak), and he can't risk her thinking like that, betraying her trust, and damaging this thing that they've got goingon.

Because this thing… it's pretty great.

''I didn't do it on purpose or anything, and especially not because of someone… it just sort'f happened.'' He shrugs, exhaling. ''I really, really like you Rachel.'' She swallows, staring up at him. ''And I want you. All of you. Not like friends. But… more.''

''Sam –''

''No, wait, hear me out. I have to get this of my chest before I chicken out.''

She nods, giving him the stage.

The lightening's bright, and he feels like everyone's watching him. Rachel enjoys that kind of attention, but he's kind of in the mist at these things.

But then he sees her face and he thinks he could do this. If she promises stay, he thinks he could face the whole wide world, too.

''I know you're scared of what others might think and to be honest… I am too. But, when I see you. When I'm with you… everything they wanna do, everything they can do, it'll be worth it… if I have you.'' He licks his lips. ''Don't you think we should give this a try?''

''I – I –'' She tightly closes her eyes. ''It's nuclear, Sam.'' She opens her eyes. ''You and me aren't Ron and Hermione.''

''I know… I know that.'' He scoots over, closer. ''But we don't need to be like them… we're our own little story. Our little own book. And we can make it work. If you let me. And if it makes you feel better, we don't have to tell anyone.''

Her lips part, as if she's about to say something, but nothing comes out.

He takes advantage of this moment and places his right hand on her cheek. She leans onto his hand, a satisfied sigh leaving her lips.

''Will you let me?''

She stares into his eyes, the ever so determined sparkle swimming, as she nods.

He seals the deal with a kiss.

…

_Dear diary,_

_Did you know that Rachel loves to see the sunset?_

_I brought her to one on Sunday, she snuggled up close, and I wrapped my arms around her small frame._

_And for that moment alone, our world seemed perfect._

…

**TBC**


	3. Bittersweet

**Hierarchy**

* * *

><p>He just wants to be close.<p>

(Their world is a dangerous world.)

He just wants to prove her that what they have, could be the real deal.

It's a mayor sacrifice. But damnit is she worth it.

It's a risqué step, it's _too_ risky. And he pulls Mike Chang and Puck down with him. They don't want too, they fight and swear and do anything in their power to stop him. The thing is though; he has already made up his mind. He is doing this. With or without them.

Eventually, it's with them.

And damnit does he remind himself again, because seeing her eyes all wide and sparkly and shocked but _so _proud, it's totally worth it.

Her Glee club needed a few more members for Sectionals; they needed three, to be exact. She told him, while they were in her room after a hot make-out session, how much it would mean to her club if they could compete in a competition and show their obvious talents. He doesn't think it was her intention to subtly lead him into Glee club, but the desperation in her voice and the need in her eyes, kind of made the decision itself.

And did he already mention that he would do anything for her?

Convincing Mike and Puck was easy, yeah they struggled and refused, but when Sam threatened to expose what happened last summer at Santana Lopez party, the idea of joining Glee club didn't seem as such a life altering option anymore.

(He wouldn't expose the truth though; he's not a mayor douche. But Puck and Mike don't need to know that little bit of information.)

However, before he even threw that card in their faces, they asked him, point blank, even a bit rudely, why he's so hellbent into joining Glee club.

''It's suicide!'' Mike exclaims. ''And fuck it, 'cause you're _not_ bringing me down with you.'' He grunts, shaking his head before throwing his jersey into his bag.

''Mike's right dude.'' Puck says, crossing his arms as he leans against the cool tiles of the locker room. Mike vividly nods. ''The guys will _murder_ us. Seriously, they'll kill us… and don't forget,'' Puck huffs. ''My base of chicks is gonna shrink. Like, really.'' He purses his lips, voicing his disagreement. '''Sides, I'm not the singing, dancing, and the 'oh my God, show tunes' guy… I don't roll like that, dude…'' Puck narrows his eyes. ''You know, if you gotta thing for dudes – I don't mind, alright, it's naturally or somethin'. I bet Finn could hook you up with Kurt…''

Sam frowns. ''I'm not gay.'' He hisses, straightening his posture and trying to appear as nonchalantly as possible. ''I just… I thought, it'd be fun.''

Mike wrinkles his nose. ''I swear, you're definition of fun is messed up… You _don't_ join _Glee club_ for _fun_… You think dying is fun, too?'' He clicks his tongue. ''You're not freaking Spencer Hastings. You don't make a habit of joining shit that brings your rep down!'' By now, it seems like Mike's breathing out fire. ''There's another reason.'' He settles upon. ''There's something you're not telling us.'' Narrowing his eyes, he blows out a breath. ''Is this… is this about someone _in_ glee club?''

He swallows a lump.

They're way too smart for this approach.

Time for a different one.

''Okay, dudes. Let me put it this way.'' He raises his hands, trying to not seem intimidated by his friend's stares. ''If you guys don't join I'm personally making sure that those secret photos from Santana's summer party.'' Mike's eyes widen, as Puck's mouth drops open. ''Won't be so secretive anymore.'' He twirls his index finger. ''If you know what I mean.''

He's dipping his toes into mud. But for Rachel, he doesn't mind getting dirty.

''This is a forbidden subject!'' Mike exclaims. ''That never happened!''

Puck frowns, loosening his arms as he takes a quick glance at Mike. Disbelieving he says; ''You wouldn't…''

And determinedly Sam replies. ''Dare me.''

(They don't.)

…

She's so surprised, and the looks on the other Glee club members is almost comical.

He's trying to suppress a grin when she mouths 'what is going on?' to him. But she looks so damn cute in her high knee socks and abnormal short skirt that he kind of shoots her a tiny reassuring smile.

Mr. Schue is the first one to ask them what they want, in a fairly nice tone.

He takes it upon himself to answer, because Puck won't if his hostile demeanor means anything, and Mike certainly won't either, if his downcast look has any say in this.

Stepping forward, his eyes beholding the petite girl sitting on the edge of her seat, he finds the courage that his friends have lost. ''We want to join Glee club.''

Everyone looks shocked, and some are even suspicious. But he holds his head high and pierces Rachel with a stare to get his words across.

She's shocked, scared, but happy too.

…

It's not a shocker that Mike's an amazing dancer. But that Puck could sing, and rock a guitar, well shit, that did come out as a shocker. Let alone Sam who blew everyone away with his rendition of 'She will be loved'.

He made a point to look at Rachel during the whole song. And yeah, he knows that she wants to keep their relationship a secret. But at some point or another, they are going to come out. He's just taking small baby steps, letting people get used to the idea of seeing them together.

(But will they ever, though, get used to the idea?)

She loved it, every single moment of it. She swayed slowly, smiled softly, and after practice, even pierced him with a loving glance.

By third period everyone knows about McKinley High's three popular football players joining Glee club.

And no one's taking it well.

He's getting looks of disgust from the football players; the Cheerios are watching him suspiciously, kind of like the Glee club members. The other ordinary students don't really know how to react, but it's Quinn who voices her opinions.

She's mean, and vicious, and she goes all up in his face.

(He's used to her freaking out on people.)

''What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?'' She hisses. He takes his books out of his locker, completely unabashed by the fury of her tone. But Quinn's not someone who likes to be ignored. ''Look at me!'' She exclaims, clenching her fists. He doesn't. ''Sam!'' He closes his locker, finally sparing her a glance. Her eyes are shooting fire. ''Glee club?'' He nods, she frowns. ''Are you out of your freaking _mind_?''

He sighs. He kind of is, isn't he?

''Kind of.''

She shakes her head, slowly. Pursing her lips. ''This is suicide, you know that, don't you?''

He's heard it so many times, believe him, he does know.

But he has come to the point where he doesn't mind dying.

''Yeah.''

She looks at him for a moment, her eyes glazing over his face. Finally, she crosses her arms and adjusts her posture, elevating her head. ''It's because of her, isn't it?''

He frowns, his mouth slightly agape.

She knows? But how does she… when did she…

''I don't know what you're talk about.''

''Yes you do!'' She hisses, keeping her voice down. ''You know exactly what I'm talking about.'' She licks her lips, looking around. ''Do you think I'm blind.'' She states. ''Do you think I'm stupid.'' Dismissively, she shakes her head. ''I'm not any those things, Sam. I have eyes, _everywhere_…'' He's scared, to be honest. That was way too much information. ''Do you think that I don't see the way you're looking at her?'' She blows out an exasperated laugh. ''I see it. I always see it… You're walking on slippery ice. But the thing is… you're not the one who's going to fall… _it's her_. Are you willing to risk that?''

A crease forms on his forehead. He narrows his eyes. ''Are you _threatening_ me?'' He barks.

Shrugging patiently, as only a Fabray can do, she says; ''I'm _warning_ you.'' She sighs, looking at him pitifully. Like a little child who's still so new to the world. ''I'm just saying… A prince never ends up with the maid. A star doesn't date the helpless.'' He wonders, for a moment, who she means with 'a star', because in his eyes, Rachel's the star. ''Face it Sam,'' and Quinn's right. The star can do so much better than the helpless. She leans in closer, her warm breathe tickling against his face. ''You and Schnoz don't work…''

''Don't call her that.''

She gets a look of disgust on her pretty little face. She wrinkles her nose. ''I'll call her _whatever_ I want!'' She snaps, slamming her hand against his locker. He doesn't flinch. ''This is toxic a – and _sick_. You don't do… whatever it is that you do, with that _thing_.'' She hisses. ''I'm pretty sure your children are going to be mutants.''

''Stop it, Quinn!'' He raises his hands. ''I'm done with this conversation.'' He turns around, proceeding to walk away.

But she doesn't let him go without a parting line, something for him to remember.

''Don't say I didn't warn you!''

She makes it sound like he didn't know the consequences.

He knows. He knew them all along.

…

Her head is leaning against his chest, facing the stars, his fingers twirling a long luscious lock of her hair.

She sighs, contently. As if this is how she wants to stay forever. Like this, with him, in his arms, looking at the stars above. _Her stars_. He knows how she feels, because that's exactly how he feels right now. No worries, no one in between. Just him, her, and her stars. It's perfect. She's perfect. They're perfectly imperfect.

''I wish I could stay like this forever.'' She murmurs. ''And that everything was as easy as we want it to be.''

He's vaguely feeling a 'but it's not' coming.

But it never comes.

Maybe she's scared to utter the truth. Maybe she doesn't want to spoil the moment.

It doesn't matter, though. Nothing matters now. Only them.

…

Glee club's actually a lot of fun.

It's a lot of singing and dancing, but he's actually good at it and he enjoys it too. He learns a lot of new stuff and kind of gets what the club's all about. It's as if being different is cool; 'it's who you are, so embrace it.' He gets why Rachel loves it, why he's starting to love it, why Mike's always on about finally finding a way to express his feelings. And why Puck's all like 'Mike's gay' but actually always shows up on time, and really participates. Which is a first for Puck.

They all love it, even if the football team is giving them crap about it, even if they try and act like it's just some stupid club and probably just a phase they're all dealing with.

But in reality, it's not.

Besides, he thinks that the club's warming up to him and his friends. He doesn't receive the stink eye from Kurt and Mercedes anymore, and Artie's actually really cool. They accept him with all his Avatar, dorky and movie impressions. They laugh and shake their heads, and it's not like Puck and Mike never knew about this side of him. He just rather not show it to the outside world.

Rachel's actually proud, too. She always is.

He thinks he could get used to this.

…

_Dear diary,_

_They know._

_Everyone knows._

…

He receives his first slushy on Thursday afternoon, with a parting line from his so called football buddies; ''Is it freezing, _Biebster_? Ask _Barbra_ wannabe for a sweater.''

Oh, they know.

(He should've never sung that latest Justin Bieber song in Glee club.)

…

It's one thing to slushy him.

But throwing a slushy on Rachel?

There's always a limit that shouldn't be crossed too many times.

It's been three slushies of what he's heard of, and he hasn't seen her all day.

He knows she's avoiding him, what else could it be? It's not like she's suddenly left the earth or something.

Then he hears about the food fight in the cafeteria, he's only a bit curious. But when he hears about the pawn, the one in the middle of it.

He loses shit.

('Cause no one has the authority to humiliate her like that.)

And on his way to protect her fallen honor, he gets cornered by Puck and Mike who proceed to slam him against the lockers and hold him there.

He pushes them off, violently. Showing no remorse.

(He has none. For no one.)

''Don't fucking touch me!''

They look sympathetic.

They know, too. Everyone knows.

''I know what you're about to do.'' Mike sighs. ''You don't stand a chance.''

He might not stand a chance, but he might very well hold his ground.

(He doesn't know for how long. He doesn't know if he's going to fall and never wake up again.)

''Why'd you even put yourself in this shit!'' Puck exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. ''What were you fucking thinkin'? You thought that everyone'd be cool with it? _With this?_ That no one would figure it out?'' Puck bites his lip. ''Fuck it, how didn't we see this coming?'' He shakes his head. ''No wonder you joined Glee club.'' He narrows his eyes. ''You know what you put yourself into. Do you?''

''Yeah I know!''

He knows. Okay. He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows.

''But… I love her.''

The words sound so, truthful, so complicated, so bittersweet.

Mike pulls a hand over his face. He exhales a shaky breath. ''This won't end well.'' He states. Voicing what Sam already knows.

''I know.''

''They're gonna damage you.'' Puck pitches in.

He thinks they're trying to change his mind. But how can they, when he's always been so damn stubborn?

''I know.''

''You need to think about this.'' Mike tries reasoning. ''This _is_ going to end… bad.''

Sam sets his jaw, pushing his back from the lockers. ''I don't get it.'' He breathes out. ''Why can't I be with her? What's so wrong with that? Oh, 'cause she's not popular? Cause she's not part of this sick group that rules our damn school?'' He shakes his head. ''Because she's who she _wants_ to be?'' He blows out a haughtily laugh. ''Come on guys. Look at us. We're fakes. Everyone is fake. But she… Rachel.'' A little smile blossoms on his face. ''She's real, man. A – and I can't lose her because everyone thinks that we shouldn't be together.'' He scrunches his nose. ''That we're _wrong_… But if I go, right now, to Azimio and Karofsky and all the others, and let them know that I won't be fucking _bullied_… that I _won't_ let her be _bullied_.'' He presses his lips together. ''I might change things. A lotta things.''

''You're not Nelson Mandela, dude. You're one man, in a school full of hypocrites and bullies, you don't stand a chance.'' Mike presses his lips together. ''This isn't worth it.''

But he shakes his head for what feels like the millionth time in trying to prove his heart's desires. ''She _is_ worth it.''

They look at him. He walks away.

And this time, they're the ones left watching him.

…

It hurts. Everything hurts.

He tries moving his arm, but she lays her hand gently upon it, stilling it against his side.

''Don't.'' She murmurs, from her seat on his lap. She continues using the disinfected cloth against the cut slightly above his left eyebrow.

He winces the moment it contacts with his wound.

''Does it hurt?''

He nods.

Her warm breathe fans against his face. ''Good.''

''I said I was sorry.'' His voice sounds muffled, but it's loud and clear, nevertheless. ''I needed to do something.'' He looks at the mirror behind her. She's wearing her gym clothes. ''I couldn't let them do this to you… to us.''

Another silence passes. Another minute left untold.

''I know you are.'' She stops, stills her hand and looks down at him. ''But I can't shake the thought away, that if Noah and Mike didn't arrive the moment they kicked you…''

''It didn't end that way, Rach. We don't need to think like that.''

''I know… I know, but.'' She stands up from his lap, dropping the cloth into the bathroom sink. ''This shouldn't have happened… You shouldn't have acted like Superman, trying to protect his Lois Lane…'' She blinks a few times. ''You're _not_ Superman and I'm _not_ Lois Lane. We're just two people in a difficult situation with even more difficult people.'' She sighs. ''You can't change people from thinking a particularly way, or feeling what they feel. Or defeat all the crime in this Godforsaken school. You can't change things. You can't change their way of thinking.''

''I can try.''

He _has_ to try.

''Trying is a long way from actually… succeeding.'' She shakes her head, crossing her arms. ''I don't… you shouldn't…'' She inhales, blinking a few more times. ''Suffer, like this… for me.''

He hears her thoughts _'I'm not worth it, Sam'_ he hears them loud and clear.

He shakes his head. Something painfully crawling up his heart. ''I don't care if I have to. You think I'm sorry, that I regret this?'' He stands up, clenching his side as he does so. The look in her eyes as she stares at his hand _almost_ kills him. ''I would do it all over, if they laid me in this position again.''

''That's the problem.'' She averts his eyes. ''You wouldn't have to do that if it wasn't for me.''

He doesn't know where this is going.

(Or maybe he does. Maybe he's scared.)

''Rachel –''

''No.'' She firmly cuts him of. Her eyes shimmering as she stares into his eyes. ''I can't do this. I'm not scared for me… but for you. I don't know what you're capable of doing.'' He's capable of doing the unimaginable, if he has to. If the outsiders force him to. ''I'm scared to put you in this position for me.'' She chokes onto a sob, and he takes a step forward. ''I'm sorry. But I can't do this anymore.''

''Don't do this, Rachel. We can beat them. Don't give up so soon.'' He walks up to her, putting his hands on her arms. ''This is what they want, don't you see it? They want us to break up. They want us to walk away. And if you walk, Rach, they win. Don't let them win. Don't let us lose.''

She licks her bottom lip. ''I'm not doing this to let them win.'' A warm tear escapes from her left eye. And instantly, his thumb reaches out to wipe it away. Lingering his finger on her cheek. ''I'm doing this to keep you safe. I care too much for you to _not_ do this.''

''Don't.''

''But I already did.''

Their forever gets cut far too soon.

And they didn't even try that hard.

(Maybe, the moment she said yes to him, she had her doubts. Maybe this empowered her doubts; the threats, the slushies, his beat up, and maybe it killed her more than she dares to admit. Maybe this was a long time coming.)

''Goodbye, Sam.''

He closes his eyes. He doesn't recognize his voice as it leaves his lips. ''Why are you saying goodbye?''

…

_Dear diary,_

_Tragic doesn't even begin to explain how dramatically it ended. Hurt doesn't even describe how I'm feeling. Broken is just a part of my heart, because the other half is with her._

…

**TBC**


	4. I'll hold your rope, and you hold mine

**Hierarchy**

Sam has lost a lot of things. He's lost football games, his mother's trust, his friends respect, money, his dad's favorite jersey. He's even lost his two wedding rings as the ring bearer. And this is dramatic, pathetic, and frankly kind of hopeless, but losing Rachel, has got to be the worst thing to ever happen to him.

He's desperate. He's seriously desperate.

She doesn't take his calls.

(Maybe their schoolmates tapped her phone?)

She doesn't answer his texts.

(Maybe she tries typing, but never finds the will to hit send?)

She doesn't look at him in the hallways.

(Would anyone, anyone at all, stop her if she did?)

And even when he finds courage, walks up to her every single time, not giving a flying fuck if anyone's watching –and hopes for the better – she looks at him than back at her locker. She is contemplating whether to talk, or just walk away. Which one is easier, and which one is right. She turns back around, her lips opening, but shutting just as fast. He reads her, like an open book; _'I can't, Sam'._ He knows what she's battling just by staring into those brown eyes of her.

She chooses what is easy, not what is right.

But in her eyes he spies the same need to talk, to be just as close.

(But the anxiety is stronger.)

He's left flabbergast, a fool re-visiting his heartbreak, when she walks away. Spinning on her heels as her lustrous brown hair falls behind. And when Quinn walks up to him, places her hand on his shoulder (as if he believes that she's actually sorry. As if he believes that she regrets what she has done. As if he believes her sympathy). He shrugs it off.

She's shocked. But Sam has come to the conclusion that he honestly, doesn't _care._

'Cause it hurts too damn much to act natural in the presence of someone who's partly to blame of his heartache. But in all honesty, if Quinn never pushed the start sign, him and Rachel wouldn't be at this position, would they?

…

Mike calls him the walking Zombie, Coach Beiste pulls him out of the team and tells him that he's slaking. His teachers are wondering what the hell is going on with him. And Mr. Schuester suggests a song to throw out all of his obvious bottled up emotions.

It's a nice gesture and all, but he'll pass.

(It strikes him, that even though Rachel and him are broken up, he's still in Glee club and his friends don't seem like they're eager to leave, either.)

That's when he knows that things have changed. Yeah, he's still popular, and girls still flay at the sight of him. But the atmosphere in the football locker room is thick, he can't properly breathe whenever she sings in Glee club, starts crying that heart wrenching way, because the song's so emotional and fits their situation perfectly, and tries _(but fails)_ to not look at him. People whisper when he walks past, people look when Rachel walks past, people stare when he looks at her. And when she looks, even if it's just for a second, something electrifying happens between them.

Like they're waiting for _something_.

(Something never comes.)

…

He takes a seat in the cafeteria, laying both his arms on the table as he stares ahead. The Glee club right ahead.

He catches her eyes, pain flashes through them, before she looks away.

(It hurt's, doesn't it, darling? It hurts her just as much as it hurts him.)

''You need to stop sulking 'round.'' Puck states as he catches the exchange. How long has it been going on? Just few days, tops.

Mike nods, seating his self across of Puck. ''It's starting to become kind of pathetic.''

He wants to say that he is pathetic… pathetically in love. But he doesn't.

''She's only trying to protect you.'' Mike goes on. It's like he's voicing something that's new to him or something. He knew that. He just wished that she stopped thinking about protecting him. It's like, can't he handle it himself? ''And after what happened three days ago, I don't blame her. I mean, did you see what your relationship had done to the school? A total hurricane.''

Puck snorts in agreement. ''I thought that fight – where I totally kicked ass, thank you very much – was crazy. But then those slushies that tripled by the day, those fucked up scary notes they send ya, and don't let me get started on the damage they left on your car.''

Mike hums.

''It'll only get worse if you both get back together.'' Puck finishes, shrugging as he takes his bottled water from the table.

Puck's knuckles are still bruised from the fight as he envelopes his fingers around the bottle. It kind of makes Sam proud, knowing that his friends actually stood there beside him and defended his honor. Rachel was right. He wouldn't have been dead as she so dramatically put in, but he would've been home and in bed rest, if it wasn't for his friends.

''And don't you say; 'it'll be worth it'. In your mind it might seem like it's worth it, but I'll bet you'll think back to this moment when you're walking around with crutches.'' Mike pitches in. ''This school's sick.'' He glances around. ''The people in it are sick. And the school board doesn't do shit. This is like a freaking battlefield. No rules, no supervision, no nothing. Nada. You're lucky you're still walking.''

As long as he's still breathing, there's no stopping.

''Kind of makes you wonder if Mr. Figgens gets blackmailed to keep his toes from tagged area.'' Puck sips from his water, placing it back on the table.

His gaze stays right ahead. 'Cause he's sure that she's going to feel him watching her, and she'll be forced to look back. Maybe not right now, but she will. Maybe not in a minute, or two minutes, or five minutes. But she will. Just wait and see. She'll look back at him. And she'll cry and smile and ask him to come back to her. And he'll tell her yes, and they'll kiss, long and passionately; a big 'fuck you' to the rest of the school.

Just wait and see.

''If it helps, or anything. You guys were cute.'' Mike shrugs. ''But something's are just not meant to be. Too much shit going around and too much shit in the middle. It's just a big puddle of… _shit_.'' He spats.

She's going to look back. If he looks _a bit_ longer. She'll look back. She will.

''I pushed Azimio extra hard, if it makes you feel better.'' Puck, as nonchalantly as he can and as bad-ass as he makes himself out to be, says. ''Totally pushed him on purpose. I think he knew, though.'' Rachel laughs. But it's fake. She's hurting too. In any minute now. ''You saw how he was pushing me back? Damn, he's still on that punch I gave him.''

(Look back, baby. _Please_.)

Mike sighs. ''You seriously look fucked up. Don't you ever blink?'' He purses his lips. ''Maybe you should take Schue's offer and sing about it… Dancing always makes me feel better.''

He blinks.

''Yeah.'' For the very first time, he talks. His voice raspy. ''I probably should.''

…

He sings. But he doesn't cry. He's close at tearing apart before the whole classroom, but no such thing comes to order.

They look at each other. And he thinks that she finally found a valuable reason to look at him. When he sings and focuses on the notes, but most importantly focuses on her, she feels like it's the right moment to look at him. Because everyone else does. So why can't she? But she makes the big mistake by letting a few tears slip, and clench her fists, like his rendition of 'Apologize' really hurts her. Like it really does something to her.

She makes the biggest mistake by holding his gaze when he's long done, because now her eyes tell him so much more; _'I'm sorry. I miss you. I want you back. I need you, Sam. Can't we make things okay? I want you back, I want you back. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I'm sorry._ _So, sorry_.' And if anything, knowing her, she despises showing her emotions in front of people (it's weakness, people can't see her weak).

But Mr. Schue claps in his hands, all proud and glad that he made a big show of his emotions and placed it right on a plate for the whole Glee club to see, halting their mental bonding before he could ever say; _'It doesn't matter. I forgive. I love you.'_

''Sam… That was… beautiful. Simply outstanding.''

Everyone claps as soon as Mr. Schue's done talking. And she's there, looking at a faraway wall behind him, staring into abyss. She presses her lips together, her hands clasping around her seat.

(He's never heard silence quite this loud.)

…

His eyes only widen for a millisecond, before he shakes his head.

His locker is completely vandalized. There are dents in his locker and graffiti letters scribbled on top of it, proclaiming; _**LOSER**_, in big fat letters.

It doesn't hurt as much as he thinks it would. It's because he knows he's loser. And he's kind of proud of it too. It's just… if Rachel was still his, the sting probably wouldn't even be there.

He types his code in, twirling the lock and pulling his locker open, before throwing his books inside.

It's quite a coincidence when he catches her eyes as she walks past. Because she never looks at him in the hallways. But this time she does and she looks sympathetic and angry at the same time.

He hates the sympathy look, but he loves the anger.

(It kind of proves that she still cares about him. Not that he ever doubted it. It's just… it's kind of nice seeing her worked up.)

She stops two feet away from him, her back directed to his face.

For a fleeting moment he actually expects her to turn around. Tell him that it's going to be her and him against the world. But she's fighting a vigorous emotional battle with the brain that helps her make sane decisions, and her heart that put her in this mess.

Eventually, her brain wins.

(And for a tiny second, he almost lets his heart take control, and do what she was so afraid to do.)

…

He shouldn't have said yes. But she dumped him. She walked away from him. She left him hanging in the girl's bathroom. She broke his damn heart. She let him fall. It's not the other way around. She killed him. She destroyed him. It's only fair that he tries to put the pieces back together. So, when Brittany has a party and he's invited, 'cause even though he's dated the school's freak and had probably lost his mind for a few weeks in there, he's still hot, popular and people look up to him.

They _want_ him there.

He goes.

It sucks.

He's moody, and angry, and he doesn't want any girl to touch him. He drinks and drinks and downs a few beers in there. But instead of feeling at least a bit horny, or the right amount of dazed, just so he could jump into the sack with some nameless, faceless chick, attempting to forget the very beautiful girl he's in love with. He's left annoyed with everyone else.

He completely flips on Quinn when she falls into his lap.

''What's your problem!'' She exclaims. Her voice is shrilly above the hard music. ''Just relax…'' Her lips are near his ears, her hands flying to his chest. She cherishes him, feels him up.

He touches her hands. They're not the right amount of soft, and not nearly as small.

''Don't touch me.'' He hisses, pushing her off, causing her to fall on to the couch. He drowns another gulp of his beer, trying to steady his body.

Her nose wrinkles, her eyes obviously glazed. She's drunk. ''Why are you being like this…'' She purses her lips, narrowing her eyes. It only takes her one look to figure it out. ''It's about her, isn't it?'' He doesn't answer. And she waits, minutes, minutes, minutes. But he never answers. Soon, she gets fed up with his silence, and throws her hands in the air. ''Come on, Sam. Look around you… You see them, you see everyone? That's what you are, that's who you're part of. She doesn't belong here, don't you see it?'' She slurs her words, spatting it out with venom. ''She's a freak for crying out loud.'' He hates her. He hates Quinn so much. ''A guy like you and a girl like her don't fit.'' They do. They _did._ ''It's so wrong, the cosmos will be out of balance if it happens all over again!''

There's something she said that hit him in his drunken daze.

'_She doesn't belong here.'_

And what about him? Does he? Does he belong here? Does he even _want_ to belong somewhere, where she's not wanted?

''I'll help you forget about her.''

She flings forward, but he fences her off with his hands, stands up with the beer bottle still in his grasp.

And then he does what she said.

He looks around and stares at the crowded place. At the trampy girls who've treated the girl he loves like trash, and the boys that have, not long ago, kicked the living crap out of him, all because of what he wanted. Because of whom he loved.

And after a while, blinking his eyes, he drops the beer bottle on the table.

''I don't belong here.'' He mutters. His eyes fall onto Quinn's willing body. And oh, does he wish she was someone else right now. Someone with brown eyes, and an obsession with stars. ''I'm leaving.''

''B – but you're drunk.''

He sets his jaw. ''I'll walk.''

It's not that far away from his house, anyway.

…

_Dear diary,_

_They're not as bad, as they were before. But they still treat me like crap, and I saw how Quinn was treating Rachel earlier in the hallways, it's no good either. Shits awful. And I just thought – I know – that if I still had Rachel. All this, would've been bearable. But it's not. She's not here and it's not. It's kind of hard to chew and swallow._

_I don't want to go back in time, pretend that she's nothing to me, because that's what everyone else wants. Not while I've already felt how it's like to be with her._

_She can't do that to me, can she?_

_Wait. Someone's at the door._

…

He stops and listens. He breathes but frowns. He's surprised but happy. He's much, but he's nothing at the same time.

''I just need you now, Sam.''

(She's been crying. He knows she has.)

…

The moment he closes the door, she talks.

''I can't do this. I can't do this, Sam. I can't put you out of my mind. But I can't be with you either. It's like your everywhere.'' She swallows, tightly. ''And… did you really have to sing that song to me? Do you know how hard it is already? I'm devastated too, you know. I'm hurt too!'' She shakes her head. ''But then I remember what they did to you, how your friends had to come to your aid… and that happened because of me. Because of a stupid food fight that went out of hand.'' She points a finger to her chest. ''And I'm selfish for wanting you back, because you have a lot more to lose than I have.''

''No one ever said it was going to be easy, Rach.''

''But no one ever told me it was going to be this damn _hard_!'' Her voice dies, her hands fisting. He takes a step closer. ''I can't have you, but I want you…'' She continues high-pitched, but barely above whisper. ''Damnit! Why can't it be easy!'' Her eyes shimmer. ''Why can't they just… accept us?'' She presses her lips together. ''Is that so hard?'' Her voice is soft. ''Are we going to breed a damn unique race that will eradicate them all?''

He walks up to her, taking her hands into his.

He's relieved that she doesn't pull back.

''I love you. And that's all that matters. No one else.''

She snorts, a little smile creeping on her face, as she says; ''They'll never understand. You know that, don't you?''

Sometimes he knows too much for his own good. ''I know.''

She licks her lips, and as she averts her eyes up to his, a tear falls from her eye and slowly trails down her cheek. Subconsciously, his thumb moves up to her cheek, as if trying to wipe her sorrow away. ''We… we'll always be on the look-out for them.'' She sniffs. ''And we'll always have to defend our love… A – are you ready for that?''

He's been waiting to hear these words, the moment his eyes fell onto hers, and she smiled.

''I'm ready. I have been. For a long time.''

She sets her jaw, blowing out a hastily breath. ''I'm scared, though.''

''Don't be.'' He wraps his arms around her tiny petite frame. And her up close, against him, he's been waiting for that, for a long time now. ''Just close your eyes, baby.'' She does. Her tiny hands fisting the back of his shirt. ''Tomorrow's a new day.''

…

They don't know what's going to happen next. How everyone's going to react when they walk through the hallways together hand in hand. It's going to be difficult.

But no one ever said love was easy.

…

_Dear diary,_

_We kissed in the middle of the hallway, and even though the whole school was shocked, it didn't do me a thing._

'_Cause it's Rachel, me and then the sidelines._

_They can't touch us._

_Unless we let them._

…

…

…

…

…

…

_**End**_**.**

**I thought this was a good way to end it. With the thought that they're going to keep on going, no matter what comes in between.**

**Hope you enjoyed it!**


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